Hybrid Theory
by a clockwork infinity
Summary: When John falls ill, it's up to Sherlock to make sure he gets better. It's just an experiment, of course.
1. Soup

John is sick.

Sherlock can tell from the bleary eyes and the flushed face, the slight snuffling when he tells Sherlock that he'll be resting in his room for the day, would that be alright? He can tell from the slow steps creaking back up the stairs, as though it is a great effort just to come downstairs. And when Lestrade tells him to meet the force tomorrow at the Yard, 10:00 sharp, he knows that John needs to get better. He needs John's military and medical expertise, after all, so _obviously _he takes an interest in his flatmate's health- nothing unnatural, certainly.

Sherlock has researched the subject extensively, going to far as to flip through several of John's dog-eared medical journals in search of remedies. John insists that he has just a touch of flu, but all the same, the detective isn't taking any chances. His blogger needs to be healthy, and though he is perfectly capable of taking medicine by himself, Sherlock knows he could be doing something, something to help, perhaps, and so the latest experiment begins- finding an effective cure for his doctor.

_1. Soup (hot, with vegetables)._

He sets the pot out to boil and gets out a large spoon, but by the time he has determined that there is nothing edible or of nutritional value in the fridge or cupboard the pot has bubbled over and when Sherlock lunges for it it tips off the stove, sending scalding hot water splashing onto his arm and front and he decides that maybe he should just buy soup instead.

Which is how he ends up in the back of a cab with a very tired, very sick, pajama-clad John at nearly nine o'clock at night, making a quick trip to Tesco. For how else is he to know which soup to buy?

John was too tired to protest.

At the store, John droops along next to Sherlock's side and weakly points out a few soups to the detective, who promptly sweeps five cans of each into the cart. The woman at the checkout gives them a strange look, briefly, and Sherlock shoots her a withering look, the kind that tells her he knows _exactly _what she did last Friday night.

They get in another cab home.

John considers pointing out the ridiculous side of paying for two cabs just to get soup, but before the words make it to his mouth his head is drooping to the windowsill, and Sherlock watches quietly as his flatmate's eyes close, breaths deepening, and he clutches the shopping bag full of soup cans a little tighter. When the cab pulls up outside Baker Street, the detective puts his arm through the plastic straps of the bag before slipping it under John's knees. His other limb enfolds the doctor in a half-hug, and Sherlock pulls him close, managing to manuever his blogger out of the taxi and throw a few crumpled bills at the driver. He can feel the sleepy warmth of John against him as he goes up the stairs to 221B, and, for one fleeting moment before he opens the door, presses his face into his friend's hair, inhaling deeply. His senses are immediately overcome by the smell of shampoo and toothpaste and woolen jumpers and cherry cough drops, and when John starts to stir Sherlock can feel the hair rubbing past his cheeks, ending in forehead as the doctor turns to look at him. A bemused "S'lock?" is all it takes for the detective to get off John's face and back to reality. Looking down at his rumpled doctor, Sherlock's heart clenches a little.

_Oh, John._

"Go back to sleep," he half-whispers, stepping into the flat. John snuggles deeper into Sherlock's shoulder obligingly, and by the time he is lowered gently to the couch is asleep, curling into the cushions and not feeling nervous hands gently covering him with a warm blanket.

Sherlock stands back and looks at his doctor, unable to explain the feeling of anxiety that overcomes him as he watches John's flushed, warm face. After all, it's just an experiment.

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**So after all that trouble, John is too tired to eat the soup...**

**More chapters to come, hopefully! :)**

**Please tell me what you thought (even if you hated it, I'd like to know what I should fix!)**

**Any questions or requests/ideas, feel free to ask by way of review or PM.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	2. Tea

This time, he's the one making the tea.

_2. Tea (hot, with honey)._

Sherlock squints at the tiny diagram on the tea packet as he stirs furiously, watching each granule of sugar dissolve with mild fascination. He never knew the process of an invalid's recovery was so _slow, _dammit, but in the meantime, the experiment continues.

_Until John gets better._

He steps back and looks on the teacup with pride, feeling greatly accomplished. Making tea had been easier than he had anticipated; surprisingly so. Slowly, he balances the steaming cup of tea on a small plate, still fascinated by the blurring swirls of sugar on top.

_Careful not to spill._

The detective strides up the stairs to John's room, taking care not to tilt the saucer more than ten degrees. He thinks of how surprised John will be to have a warm cup of tea, and the thought of his flatmate's face twisting into the unique expression of bemused happiness gives him, strangely, an exceptionally pleasing feeling. He will ponder this reaction later, after he finishes this experiment.

Sherlock enters John's room to find him asleep, fevered face half-pressed into the pillow. Gently, the detective releases a hand from the rim of the saucer and lays it on John's forehead. He closes his eyes and hums, mind working to analyze the information at his fingertips.

_About 103 degrees Farenheit._

Suddenly, he feels hot fingers close around his outstretched wrist. "Sherlock?"

He starts violently and the saucer tips, overturning the cup of hot tea onto John, who bolts upright in shock. The doctor holds his now-soaked shirt away from his body. Sherlock stands there, looking on absently. When John shoots him a look, though, he tries to make an appropriately apologetic face.

"I- I'm- my apologies, John, I simply wanted to-"

John sighs as he peels off his shirt. "It's fine, Sherlock. I mean, it's the thought that counts, right?"

"I'll make you another cup," the detective offers hopefully.

"Er- no, I think I'll be fine for now."

Sherlock flees down the stairs, disappointed. So far, the experiment is not progressing well.

And he really is sorry about the tea.

* * *

**Thanks for all the feedback for the last chapter, guys! And sorry this chapter is so short...**

**Again, please tell me what you thought (even if you hated it,****I'd like to know what I can fix.)**

**Any questions, feel free to ask by way of review or PM. :)**


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